


Need

by Enamourous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enamourous/pseuds/Enamourous





	Need

Sam started getting them when he was six years old; he grew to know the feeling well. They felt like just his nightmares did, except for each miserable second was painfully real. Heart racing, blood rushing, sweat in his pores, fear prickling through every fiber in his skin. It pooled in his stomach and it rolled down his back and fogged his head and he never understood why. The first time he got one of them, one of these anxiety attacks, he couldn’t do anything but cry until his nose ran. He was crumpled on the floor, beating his small fists on the coffee-stained motel carpet when Dean found him.

 _Breathe Sammy,_ he had said, palm firm against Sam’s small chest while it fluttered underneath touch. He pushed him back gently so he was lying flat on the floor. _Relax. Eyes on me. Tell me what’s wrong._ Just like Dad comforted them.

Hazel to green and the warmth on his chest and suddenly that’s all there was.

The attacks got worse after Sam learned the truth about what their dad did. Guess it scared him more than he liked to admit. Suddenly there was a finger on the hair-trigger of a gun pointed at him, shooting shrapnel through his blood when something stressed him or scared him.

He never knew when one would start, but he always knew how it would end. With Dean’s hands on his skin and his voice in his ear, slowly teaching him how to breathe again.

This time it’s the threat of loneliness that sends fear bubbling hot in his gut. It has him pacing like a caged animal in the dim light of another hotel room with stupid fucking wallpaper and a stupid fucking smell. He’s ready to strike or ready to run, whichever will let him cast off the bitter beads of fear dripping down his skin. And jesus this is a stupid thing to be afraid of, being alone. But Sam’s fears are irrational. Sam’s fear holds him in an iron vice. His heart is beating mad in his ribcage and his tongue is scraping like sandpaper on the roof of his mouth and he can’t fucking shake it, just like always. Because he might be sixteen, and a bull’s-eye shot with a sawed-off, but bullets can’t kill what’s inside him and he hasn’t learned how to deal with this. Not in any other way than find Dean fast, he’ll make it stop, Dean will make it better. Dean always makes it better.

And this time is no different when Dean is there in a heartbeat, hands on his skin, gripping his arms, pushing him down. _Flat on the ground Sam. Dammit stop fighting._ Because sometimes Sam struggles now, not because he doesn’t want it but because that’s just how it goes.

 _What are you afraid of huh? What are you so damn afraid of?_ Dean’s got a knee digging into his sternum and his hands on the fly of his jeans and Sam tells him that he’s afraid of being alone, afraid of losing Dean, afraid of this life taking everything away from him because it might be stupid but that’s what hunting means to him and it’s only a matter of time before it rips his brother away too. Just like every home, every friend, every happy moment he’s ever had. Dean’s already got an x carved in blood on his chest and Sam can’t stand to see how it damns him. Damns them. It might not be a physical mark but Sam sees it. Just like he sees it on everything else he loses.

 _You listen to me. I’m not going anywhere. Look at me. Not ever._ His brother’s hands are rough on his body, one shoved down his jeans and the other pressing his shoulder hard into the floor. _You understand me? I’m not ever gonna leave you._

His eyes roll shut and he lets Dean work the fear out of him, lets him drain it out and fill the empty space up with his own presence until all there is, is Dean’s touch, Dean’s smell, Dean’s voice.

 _I’ve got you._ He says and pulls a moan from Sam’s mouth. _You know it, you know I’ve always got you._

Sam lets himself have this because he doesn’t know any other way. Maybe he would have stopped it if he had seen it starting. But he can’t remember the first time Dean’s touches started to mean something else. All he knows is he needs what Dean gives and damn everything else.

 _C’mon Sam._ Dean’s hand is pressing over his heartbeat now, and he’s almost there. _Do it. Believe me._

A little bit more and he gives himself over to his brother. He feels his come hitting his stomach, feels Dean stroking it out of him and leaning down low, chest pressed against Sam’s side so he can feel the orgasm pulsing through him.

_Just like that._

And that’s what it’s become. Sam can’t tell you what it is, how much it means to him, or how much he needs it. Just that this sick, secret, perfect thing started with Dean’s hand on his chest when he was six but ended with his hand on his heart when he was sixteen.


End file.
